WID. What state do you allude to, Miss White?
MARY. The marriage state, of course.
WID. Oh, indeed. Ah!
MARY. You don't forget, I hope, that I have your promissory note on
the back of twenty-nine unpaid washing bills to make me your lawful
wife. (_Produces several papers._) There they are--and there's the
last of them. (_Reads._) "Six months after date I promise to marry
Miss Mary White." There, sir, you're due next Monday.
WID. Am I! Then I'm afraid I sha'n't be prepared to take myself up.
I'll let myself be protested.
MARY. No, you sha'n't; you've been protested often enough. I can't be
put off any longer, and understand me, Mr. Widgetts, I _won't_
neither.
WID. (_Aside._) There's a savage hymeneal look in her eye that makes
me shiver in my Alberts. I must soothe her a little or I shall have a
scene. Why, Mary, my dear, now don't be angry, you know it's one of my
jokes.
MARY. Well, you'd better not try any more of them, for I don't like
them. No woman does.
WID. No, of course, no woman does. Ha, ha, ha! Quite proper too, my
dear.
MARY. Well, now that matter's settled, I'll go and collect your soiled
things, for it's getting late.
WID. Do so, Mary; you'll find them in my room as usual. (_Sits at
table, L. C._) I'll make out the list as you call them out. (_Mary
White enters room, R., and Widgetts prepares to write._) She's
resolved to make me her victim and I don't know how to get rid of her.
I'd give----
MARY. (_Inside._) Four shirts.
WID. (_Writes._) Four shirts. She's a perfect treasure at shirt
buttons; but what is shirt buttons to a bosom that beats for another.
MARY. (_Inside._) One false front.
WID. (_Writes._) One false front. She'd make a comfortable little wife
if she only had----
MARY. (_Inside._) A pair of white trousers.
WID. (_Writes._) A pair of white trousers. Ah! I wore those ducks at
the Casino last Wednesday, and Ma'amselle Cheri Bounce observed, while
I was handing her a glass of champagne---- Ecod, 'tis well I
recollected it--I've forgotten to order champagne for my supper. I
must run over to the tavern myself and tell them to send some.
[_Snatches up his hat and exit, L._
MARY. (_Entering with the white waistcoat worn by Widgetts at first,
and a note in her hand._) Well, you're a pretty careless fellow, to
leave your letters in your waistcoat pocket. Where is he gone to?
(_Examines the note curiously. Reads._) "Whittington Widgetts, Esq."
It's a woman's hand. I've a good mind to read it. I've no secrets from
him and he has none from me--or, at least he oughtn't to--so it can be
no harm. (_Opens note and reads hastily._) "Ma'amselle Cheri
Bounce"--Ah!--"compliments--happy to sup with Mr. W. W. this
evening--female notions--single gent--lobsters is stronger than
prudence--therefore trusts to indulgence, at nine o'clock precise."
Oh, the minx! (_Reads._) "P.S.--I'll come in my blue visite and my
native innocence." Oh, Widgetts, the false deceitful wretch, to
deceive me and wash out all his promises; to wring my heart and mangle
my affections like that. (_Sobbing._) But I--I--don't care not a pin's
point; no, I despise him and hate him worse than poison, and
I'll--I'll--I'll--tell him so. (_Sobbing._) I'll--I'll----
_Enter JACOB BROWN, L. door._
BROWN. (_Angrily._) Where's Widgetts! I want to see Widgetts.
MARY. Then you want to see a good-for-nothing fellow.
BROWN. Exactly, and I shouldn't mind adding that I consider him an
numbug.
MARY. A wretch!
BROWN. Most decidedly.
MARY. A puppy!
BROWN. Not a doubt of it. You see we're unanimous in our verdict. That
man, ma'am, has been a _reptile_ in my path, a _wiper_ to all _my_
hopes, and an _adder_ to all my woes; he has lacerated my heart and
singed the tender buds of young affection here.
(_Lays his hands on his bosom._)
MARY. Ah! What has he done?
BROWN. He has _done me_, ma'am--_me_, Brown; that's what he's done.
Cut me out with Ma'amselle Cheri Bounce.
MARY. Cheri Bounce! Ah! (_Aside._) She that's to sup to-night with
Widgetts.
BROWN. I'm an 'airdresser, ma'am, my name's Brown, and I've a
professional engagement at the Opera House, where I cultivate romance
and ringlets amongst the ladies of the ballet. There I first beheld
the lovely Cheri Bounce, the very image of the wax Wenus in my shop
window. I loved her, not for her foreign grace, but for her native
hair. Oh, she had such a head of real hair; and, oh, the showers of
tears and the bottles of Macassar oil that I've poured upon it nobody
would believe! Well, I toasted her for two years regularly, and at
length she consented to become _Brown_. Well, we were to have been
married, I had bought my wedding suit, when this fellow Widgetts, came
to take the curl out of my happiness. We quarrelled about him last
Saturday, and grew so warm that we've been cool ever since. But that's
not all. This very day, I heard that she had accepted an invitation to
sup with him to-night; but I'll prevent _that;_ he shall fight me--one
of us must fall--let him choose his own weapons--curling irons if he
likes.
MARY. Don't be rash, Brown. Widgetts has deceived _me_ and wronged
_you;_ we must take a better way of being revenged on him.
BROWN. How? What way? Tell me! I'll do anything to be down on
Widgetts.
MARY. Then you must assist me in a scheme I've just thought of. Here,
carry this stuffed gentleman into the kitchen there.
(_Pointing to dummy figure._)
BROWN. This chap! Come along, old fellow. (_Takes him up._) Why he's a
regular railway speculator--nothing but a man of straw.
MARY. (_Taking a gown and other articles of female attire out of her
basket._) Aye, here's a gown, petticoat, and stockings--(_takes a pair
of green boots out of her pocket_)--and a pair of green boots. Now,
Brown, you must dress the figure in these clothes.
(_Gives him clothes._)
BROWN. Dress him in these! Why, bless you, I don't know how. I'm not a
lady's maid.
MARY. Oh, never mind; you'll manage very well! There, make haste, and
do as I tell you.
BROWN. Well, I'm only made to order, so I'll try and do my best.
[_Exit through the folding-doors into the passage, and then through
the door beyond into kitchen._
MARY. (_Sits at table, R. C._) Now to write to Widgetts and tell him
of my melancholy end. (_Writes and reads._) "Base man,--I have
discovered the truth of your falsity, and know all about the lobsters
and the cretur that's to sup with you to-night. Oh, Widgetts, once,
you swore to love none but Mary _White;_ but now, your vows is _blew_
to the winds. I sha'n't trouble you no more with my _mangled_
feelings, for I'm going to drown myself in the water-butt in your
kitchen; where you'll find me. Adieu, Widgetts! I forgive you; but I
know that my ghost and them lobsters will sit heavy on your stomach
to-night. So no more at present from your departed--MARY WHITE."
BROWN. (_Coming into the passage from the kitchen and showing the
figure dressed in the clothes given him by Mary._) Here she is. Will
she do?
MARY. Oh! beautifully! Ha, ha, ha, ha! I can't help laughing at the
droll figure I cut. (_Folds and directs the letter._) There lies the
train that's to blow up Widgetts. (_Rises._) Now, Brown, we must pop
her head downwards into the water-butt.
BROWN. Well, that's easily done.
MARY. (_Widgetts heard singing in the street._) Hark! I hear Widgetts
coming. Quick, we must get out by the back door quietly.
[_Mary White exits into the passage, and closes the folding-doors
after her._
_Enter WIDGETTS by street door, L._
WID. I've ordered the champagne--these opera girls all drink
champagne, when they can get it. I wonder is _she_ here still. (_Looks
into chamber, R._) Ah, bravo! She's gone. (_Sees the letter on table,
C._) Ah, a letter--for me? (_Opens it carelessly, starts, and reads to
himself._) Oh, oh, oh! What? (_Reads._) "Mary White--I'm going to
drown myself in the water-butt, where you'll find me." Gracious
powers! "Adieu, Widgetts, I forgive you." Poor dear soul. "But my
ghost, and them lobsters will sit heavy on your stomach to-night."
Horrible idea! It can't be true--she'd never go to commit such a
catastrophe in my establishment. Make a coroner's inquest of herself
in my private water-butt, when the Thames is open to all! No, she's
only said so to frighten me. (_Throws letter on the floor and goes to
folding-doors._) Why Mary, Mary, my dear, don't be foolish! Ha, ha,
ha, ha! I know it's one of your jokes. Ha, ha! Little rogue! Ha! ha!
Ha! ha! (_Throws open folding-doors and discovers the dummy figure,
which has been dressed in female garments, with the legs and part of
the dress sticking out of the water-butt, a pair of women's green
boots on the feet of the figure. Widgetts totters back, horrified at
the sight._) Oh, oh, oh! She done it. She's there, with her legs
sticking out of the water-butt, and her green Sunday boots on her
feet--and the vital spark extinct. Oh, it's too dreadful a sight for
human feelings them legs, and them green boots. (_Returns, and closes
the folding-doors._) What an awful sensation 'twill make when it's
found out; they'll have my _head_ in all the print shops, and my
_tale_ in all the newspapers--I shall be brought out at half the
theatres too. They'll make _three_ shocking acts of one fatal act at
the Victoria, and they'll have the real water and water-butt at the
Surrey. (_Rises._) What's to be done? I'm in a desperate state of
mind, and feel as if I could take my own measure for an unmade coffin.
TWILL. (_Who has entered at the last words._) I've ordered it, sir,
for nine precisely.
WID. (_Starts._) Ordered it? What?
TWILL. The fowl and the lobster in the shell.
WID. Oh, ha! I was thinking of another _shell_. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Light
the lamp, Twill. (_With forced gaiety._) We'll have a jolly night. Ha,
ha, ha, ha!
"Old King Cole was a jolly old soul, and a jolly old soul was he;
He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl,
And he called for his fiddlers three."
TWILL. Ay, master, that's the way to drown old care.
WID. Drown who, sir? Do you mean, sir, that anyone is drowned in this
establishment?